


stubbornness

by brites



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Emetophilia, Fever, Gen, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brites/pseuds/brites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takao sometimes wonders if inhuman stubbornness is a Generation of Miracles thing, or just a Midorima thing. It's probably both. But when Midorima is sick, <i>someone</i> has to step up and look out for him -- since he obviously won't do it himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stubbornness

“Geez, Shin-chan,” Takao muttered, eyeing Midorima out of the corner of his gaze. “Don’t you have a jacket or something?”

Midorima did nothing more than ignore him – Midorima _had_ been ignoring him totally for the entire day, which Takao was sure had to be a record even for him (Takao was quite proudly not an easy person to ignore). With anyone else he might have worried he’d done something to offend, but as usual Midorima was probably just being Midorima.

A very withdrawn Midorima, who had seemed more tired than usual all day – and was now shivering like a leaf in a windstorm.

“Really,” Takao continued, leaning against his locker and watching as Midorima’s trembling hands struggled to unwrap the tape binding his fingers. “It’s not that cold today. Are you alright?”

This at least got a glance out of him – even if Midorima’s entire countenance just _screamed_ “leave me alone”, and the glare he sent Takao was probably strong enough to curdle milk. It was still a reaction however, and Takao considered this a victory. He pressed on.

“Can you even shoot like that? You’re shaking worse than my uncle when he hasn’t smoked in a day – Shin-chan, you haven’t started smoking, have you? Don’t rip out my heart like that!”

Midorima slammed his locker shut with enough force that its loud clang echoed through the locker room. _Wow,_ Takao thought, _he really_ is _in a bad mood today._

“I’ll be fine, Takao,” Midorima said, his voice chilled as a winter day. Without glancing back at the other boy, Midorima turned on his heel and stomped off. Takao didn’t miss the slight waver to his step, or the way he clenched his fists at his sides to keep them from trembling.

In all likelihood, he realized, Midorima was sick. He was also way too proud to tell anyone, so he was absolutely going to carry on with practice today just like any other normal day. He was also very likely going to crash and burn.

Either way, Takao thought, pushing himself away from the lockers and starting towards the gym, it would be an interesting show.

* * *

 

Midorima wasn’t fine.

He was distinctly not fine. He was absolutely unfine. He was so not fine that by the fourth missed basket in a row, the veins in his forehead were pulsing impressively, his teeth were clenched, and Takao was very worried he was going to blow a gasket.

Midorima missing any shots at all was unusual. Midorima missing four was a herald of the oncoming apocalypse. Most of the Shuutoku first string had stopped training at this point to watch, gazes fixed on the oblivious Midorima as he stubbornly made shot after off-kilter shot.

“He looks like he’s going to explode,” Miyaji stated bluntly.

“He looks like he’s going to faint,” Ootsubo corrected, brow furrowed as he regarded their shaky ace. “He really isn’t feeling well, is he? He can’t practice like this. He should go home.”

“He won’t,” responded Takao, distractedly dribbling a ball on the ground. “He’s too stubborn for that. That would be admitting weakness, and if you think he’ll willingly do that you haven’t spent this long around him.”

“And I regret every second,” Miyaji deadpanned, before giving Takao a sharp shove between the shoulder blades. The point guard yelped, reflexes not quite quick enough for him to recover his balance in time; the ball in his hands was sent bouncing off towards the other end of the gym, and it was all he could do to keep from falling over. He shot his upperclassman a hot glare, one Miyaji returned just as readily. “Get the hell over there before Coach spots him.”

“What can I do?”

“Make him go home. He might actually listen to you. If he faints during practice and cracks his head open, the school will probably have to pay his hospital bills, and we’ll be the ones who have to wash his blood off the court. Get over there, Takao.”

Muttering something choice under his breath, Takao turned away; after a moment of deliberation, he began walking towards Midorima. Miyaji was right, he knew; if their ace hurt himself it would be bad for the entire team. Plus, if Midorima was sick then he really should be resting; this was such common sense that Takao would have expected Midorima to be doing so anyways. Yet the fact that the other boy had pushed himself not only through school but practice as well was still somehow unsurprising. Midorima was, after all, a special kind of guy. Takao wasn’t sure if he could really convince the shooting guard to call it quits for the day, but he liked to think he was at the very least a decent friend; so damn him if he wouldn’t try.

“Shin-chan!” he called out; Midorima’s focus slipped, and he missed another easy shot.

_Yup_ , Takao thought as he drew near enough to note the chalky pallor of the other boy’s skin, the shadows surrounding his eyes, and the sheen of sweat on his brow. _Definitely sick._

“What, Takao?” Midorima snapped. He sounded more drained now, compared to earlier, and his voice also seemed a little choked.

Takao considered his options. He could ask Midorima to stop pushing himself and go home; he wouldn’t. He could tell him to; then he definitely wouldn’t. He could go to the coach, and have him order Midorima home for the day, but knowing Midorima he would just ask to stay. He hadn’t used up a single selfish act today; the coach would have to allow it. Takao’s lips turned down in a frown as he realized he really had just one option.

“Coach needs me to get some spare equipment from downstairs. He told me to take you.”

Midorima raised a doubtful eyebrow. “I’m busy.”

“Shin- _chaaaaan_ ,” Takao dragged out. “The boxes are _heavy_ …”

Maybe he had a bit too much faith in Midorima’s good nature. But, as Takao reasoned, casting a wink to the rest of his team over his shoulder as he followed an unsteady Midorima out of the gym, his instincts hadn’t failed him yet.

* * *

They were about halfway down the flight of stairs leading the the supply rooms when Midorima’s legs gave out on him. His knees buckled, he pitched forward, and Takao barely managed to grab him in time to keep him from hurtling down the stairs entirely.

“Geez,” he hissed, fighting the urge to pull away and instead tightening his hold around Midorima’s arm. His other hand found the boy’s shoulder, holding him upright; the skin beneath his touch was burning. Midorima’s emerald eyes lacked their usual sharpness, instead seeming glassy and distant. When Takao tried to meet his gaze, his head lolled slightly as if the effort of keeping it upright was too much for him.

“You really are sick,” the shorter boy breathed, and Midorima made an effort to pull away.

“I am not… let go of me…”

“Shin-chan…” Midorima wasn’t just shaky and exhausted, he really was burning up. He looked about two seconds away from passing out, and the fact that he hadn’t pulled out of Takao’s grip yet was a testament to his lack of strength. Takao felt a sharp pang of worry for his friend. Stupid Midorima and his ridiculous pride; it had to be a Teikou thing, he decided, since a lot of Midorima’s flaws seemed like they could be traced back to his Teikou years.

Midorima’s struggling was becoming a bit more desperate now. His wrists twisted in Takao’s grasp, and his breathing was short and slightly gasping. “Takao –”

Without knowing why, Takao let go; almost immediately Midorima doubled over the side of the railing, gagging harshly towards the ground below. Takao watched, wide-eyed and stunned, as Midorima held himself up with trembling arms, coughing and visibly fighting back nausea while harsh retching wracked his lanky form.

Nothing came up, but nothing seemed to get better for Midorima either. He collapsed to the ground, head drooping like a wilted flower as his shoulders shook with aborted breaths. He was still trembling, and his face had gone from stark pale to an ashy gray in just a matter of minutes.

Now, Takao realized, was probably a really great time to be a nice person.

“Hey.” Not thinking twice he knelt down by Midorima’s side, wrapping an arm around his bony shoulders and allowing the other boy to brace his weight against him. Midorima’s first instinct was to resist any and all human comfort, but where his stubbornness hasn’t deserted him, his energy definitely had. He wound up slumped into Takao’s chest, practically a dead weight in the other boy’s arms.

“You’re okay,” Takao muttered, taking in the feverish flush of his cheeks and the heat radiating from his friend’s skin. “You’ve sure got some fever, though. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Midorima glared up at him; he might not have had the energy to pull away, but that didn’t mean he was happy with the impromptu cuddling taking place. “I assumed I could manage it.”

“Are you _still_ ‘assuming’? That’s a pretty dangerous word, you know, ‘assume’ – I’ll bet people have died over it. You shouldn’t assume anything, because if you don’t actually _know_ something is true, you might end up with a really high fever and nearly pitch down a flight of stairs. So there _you_ go Shin-chan, lesson learned. Don’t assume anything ever. You’re going home now, by the way.”

“No, I–” Midorima cut himself off, a grimace crossing over his face; his arm wrapped around his stomach, by the made an obvious effort not to display his nausea to Takao. Unfortunately for him, Takao missed nothing. The ill boy shook his head. “I can’t go home.”

“You can. You stayed at school all day.” Takao made a face. “Shin-chan, you’re _sick_.”

“I’m fine.”

“No. You aren’t. Are you stupid? Do you think _I’m_ stupid?”

Midorima opened his mouth.

“Don’t answer that, geez. I’m supposed to drive you home anyway, let’s just go find the rickshaw.”

Takao wasn’t about to leave this up to argument, and he also wasn’t going to give Midorima the chance to lose consciousness on him in the middle of a stairwell. With some effort, he freed himself from the considerable weight of his friend and hauled himself to his feet, reaching down to help Midorima up afterwards.

Getting the boy upright was a challenge in itself; but no sooner had Midorima managed it than he had a hand pressed to his mouth, eyes wide in a pale, angular face. Takao felt a cold dread settle in the pit of his own stomach.

“No. No, Shin-chan, _Midorima_ , wait until we’re outside _please_ –”

Midorima made a sound that would probably have been a sick belch, had it not been muffled by his entire hand. He teetered on his feet, and Takao took this as a cue to start walking as quickly as possible.

“Come on,” he urged, voice quiet but firm. “Once we get outside you can throw up all over Miyaji-senpai’s bike, even he isn’t enough of a bastard to brain you for that… just hold it in for a little while longer.”

Midorima didn’t reply. Takao supposed he should be grateful for that.

* * *

 

When Midorima was well again, Takao would have to explain to him where an entire week’s allotment of selfish acts had gone. Puking literally everywhere, as it turns out, takes a lot of the generosity out of anyone.

After watching in mild horror as Midorima, the second they broke out into open air, reeled, belched, and promptly gagged up a huge surge of vomit all over Coach Nakatani’s car, Takao just wasn’t sure what to do. Crouched on the pavement, Midorima was trembling violently. After a moment Takao worked up the courage to reach out to him, laying a hand on the boy’s shaking shoulder. This time Midorima didn’t protest being helped to his feet (this may have had something to do with the fact that he could barely stand); but they had barely taken a few more steps across the lot when Midorima doubled over again with a sick burp.

“Shin-chan…” Takao crooned in distress, supporting the other boy under his arms as Midorima gagged. Someone’s new Honda would need to get their wheels washed after this, he observed. He really hoped no one would try to make Midorima pay for it, because knowing Midorima he’d probably just find some way to make Takao pay instead.

Midorima heaved in his grip, gagged harshly, and coughed up yet another mouthful of vomit. Glancing down, Takao was surprised to find the other’s fingers tangled tightly in the front of his shirt. Midorima’s knuckles were practically going white from the tightness of his grip; the fabric stood a risk of tearing, and his well-manicured nails were starting to dig into Takao’s collarbone in a way that was pretty unpleasant. Still, he was definitely not about to complain now.

Finally, Midorima stilled. His entire body was still wracked with tremors, and his skin was still burning hot to the touch, but the fact that he was no longer gagging on stomach acid had to be an improvement in Takao’s books. He let out a soft, sympathetic humm, and Midorima’s drooping head quickly spun towards him.

Takao felt his breath catch in his throat. Midorima’s washed out lips still had small bits of leftover sickness clinging to them; his waxy skin looked almost white in the shadows cast by slowly fading daylight. But there was no mistaking the tears lining Midorima’s cheeks, spilling almost reluctantly from his eyes and rolling down his fine-cut cheekbones in glistening streams.

For once, Takao found himself totally speechless.

“I –” Midorima opened his mouth, searched for any possible words that could make this better. He found none. He gave a soft, nauseous hiccup and dropped his head again; Takao could barely believe it when he realized the sick boy was actually trying to pull out of his grip.

_Shin-chan, you idiot,_ he thought to himself seconds before crushing the other teen to his chest and squeezing. He squeezed him in the same firm, reassuring, (slightly smothering) way his mother had always embraced him after he’d been sick; he crushed Midorima to his chest, allowing his chin to rest on the crown of the other boy’s head as he muttered soothing nonsense just to calm him down. Maybe Midorima was painfully awkward, and Takao usually enjoyed seeing him flounder for his footing in social situations. But it was definitely another story when it came to things like this.

For a few long seconds, Midorima was tense and still – Takao almost worried that his way of comfort hadn’t worked at all, and would only end up pushing the boy even farther away from him.

Then, finally, Midorima relaxed.

Takao could practically feel all the tension drain from his fever-wrought body as Midorima slumped into his grip. The boy’s face buried into Takao’s jersey, doubtlessly smearing tears and puke and who knew what else (this had been his last clean jersey too, _dammit_ ), but somehow when seeing Midorima like this Takao wasn’t even able to complain.

“I…” Midorima trailed off, pressed a nauseous belch into Takao’s shoulder, and then continued. “Want to go home, Takao…”

“Right…” Takao ran one hand through Midorima’s hair, twining his fingers through the silky emerald strands. Midorima gave another shudder, and Takao gently hugged him close once more. “Don’t worry, Shin-chan. I’m going to take you home.”


End file.
